Bittersweet
by darylsdiva1
Summary: After S4 episode "Isolation." Daryl returns to the Prison and Carol has to face the consequences of her actions as he is tasked with carrying out the sentence handed down by the new Council. Oh, it's on, fellow Carylers. S4 the way it should be... Spoiler Warning: Plot points for S4 Eps. revealed within.
1. Chapter 1

_Bittersweet_

"Do it fast." Carol said, closing her eyes. She could feel Daryl's hot breath on her neck as he stood behind her, the rough texture of his big hand as it held her still with a firm grip on her arm, fingers almost touching as they circled it, just above her elbow.

She had hoped it wouldn't be him that the reconstituted Council chose to carry out its sentence for her crime, but she knew he'd feel honor bound to volunteer, to make it as painless as possible…quick, clean, done so she wouldn't turn.

She'd had a lot of time, alone in her cell in the last three days to think over her decision making process, to wonder if she could've done things any differently, made some other decision knowing what she'd known at the time. She'd come to the conclusion that she'd acted to protect them, the kids; that it had been all her own doing, teaching them the skills, the need to act without hesitation to remove a threat… What she hadn't understood just how damaged they already were before she'd ever met them…what they'd already seen and done that fell so far outside her realm of experience that she'd failed to comprehend what even young children were capable of when they were afraid.

It had been her fault. So now she was doing the only thing she could to make up for it. She was showing them the dignity of sacrificing oneself for others, hoping they could still be reached, still made to understand the difference.

Carol closed her eyes, hoping that when she next opened them she'd see her Sophia.

Daryl had taken her deep into the Tombs to perform his task, to Solitary, the double irony not lost on her. This place of execution was where he'd once found and saved her, but it was also where the killings had occurred.

She felt the sharp pain of regret that she'd never overcome her fear of rejection to push beyond the gentle push and pull of flirtations they shared; push beyond the easy friendship into which their interactions had settled. At times she thought he might push back from his side, but whatever demons holding him back refused to release their grip on him and she had settled for knowing she had his trust, that theirs was a special bond that went beyond words.

The breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding whooshed out of her in a rush when instead of the blade to her throat she expected, warm dry lips pressed to her nape, and then a hot wet tongue tasted her there.

"Daryl?" she gasped and his hand came over her mouth.

_"Shh."_ He whispered, his mouth moving to her ear, the hand at her elbow slipping to her waist and then around to her belly, his fingers spreading wide, jerking her back to his body, hard up firm against his narrow hips, his rigid cock digging into her ass.

_"You want this?"_ he growled, giving her the chance to refuse him. He pulled his hand from her mouth and waited.

Her last minutes on earth making love to Daryl Dixon? What sane person would refuse?

_"Yes."_ Carol moaned, nodding. She supposed for him this made sense somehow—no dealing with the changes it could mean to their relationship—it would always, for him, just be a bittersweet memory of something that could never be.

His hand at her front was joined by the other and they found the hem of her shirt and skimmed underneath it, traveling lightly along her softly rounded abdomen, skin on skin and she trembled. They moved higher to cup her small full breasts, thumbing the peaks to attention as his mouth opened over the crook of her neck, kissing, nipping, and suckling there. She leaned back into him, weak at the knees. From his past aversion to touch she had expected him to be more tentative and so was surprised at the surety of his hands moving over her body, his busy mouth on her flesh, the evidence of his desire grinding into her as he bucked his hips against her.

_"Need."_ He groaned and turned her in his arms so he could lift her and carry her to the low cot with its thin mattress, clean sheets and pillow, prepared for use as part of the original isolation ward plan. He laid her down and she looked up at him, his cobalt blue eyes hooded, dark with desire—a look she had never seen on his usually either agitated or totally Zen face. She sat up, leaning back on her elbows, watching him as he stripped off his vest, jacket and shirt, his eyes returning to hers each time a garment interrupted his gaze. He unbuckled the belt and sheath holding his large knife and dropped it to the floor and she shivered, wondering if that's what he would use on her when the time came. Without the belt his loose pants dipped low, and she could see the sleek jut of his hips, that curved line of muscle disappearing under the waistband in front, the outline of his erection clear against the well-worn brown material.

She sat up, knelt on the bed and reached out, hooking her index fingers in his belt loops and dragging him forward. She put her mouth on his flat stomach, kissing him there and felt his palm on the back of her head, his fingers caressing her short curls. Her head moved lower and her hands moved to the button of his fly, but he gripped her hair harder and spoke.

_"Un uh-won't last—com'ere."_ he admonished, and moved his hands to her upper arms, dragging her up his body until she was standing up in front of him. He found the hem of her shirt again and this time pulled it up and off over her head, tossing it over his shoulder. He leaned down and kissed along her shoulder, sliding the bra strap off as he reached it and then kissed his way across her collar bone so he could do the same to the other side and then he slowly lowered the straps off of her arms and the loosened bra showed a view of deep cleavage. He used his mouth again, kissing and licking the valley between her breasts, his rough beard making her whimper until he finished pulling the rest of the scrap of cloth still covering her chest off and unhooking it in the back so he could find her now erect little rosebud nipples with his lips. It was a delicate, efficient way to accomplish his task of undressing her further—Daryl Dixon had _moves._

_ "What do you want?"_ he rasped between loving licks and nibbles on her delicate creamy flesh.

"To be _yours_…to spend the rest of my life _loving_ you…and you, _mine_, loving _me_..." Carol said desperately, bitterly, the situation finally dredging complete honesty from her. Daryl stopped what he was doing and his head came up, his eyes meeting hers, brimming with tears.

_"All right."_ He murmured, and gave her his little smile and leaned in to kiss her so sweetly that she thought he'd need neither blade nor bullet when the time came—she would die of joy from this, his mouth moving over hers, tentative at first, but growing in intensity as she responded, becoming ever more passionate, irresistible.

Daryl returned them to the bed, stripping off his pants and briefs and undressing her the rest of the way between the same sorts of mind drugging kisses and caresses, touching her in ways that drove her insane with pleasure, using his mouth on her until she cried his name, her fingers twined in his too long hair as his whiskers tickled her thighs.

When he was finally inside her he stared deep into her eyes as if he was trying to memorize her soul, and she breathed deeply, feeling every part of his body moving with hers, her core already so sensitized from his earlier attentions that all it took was a few strong thrusts and his fingers lightly moving against her swollen bud and she came, screaming.

_"Do it…kill me now…"_ she whispered, digging her fingers into his biceps and crying out in ecstasy as another orgasm overtook her, but she felt him shudder and groan, thrusting harder as she clamped down on him so tightly he thought he'd died and gone to heaven.

"Fuck woman –yer killin' _me!" _he yelled and he erupted inside her—she'd never felt anything like it before—never had she reached her peak at the same time as her partner—it was her last best moment, and it was with him…

"I'm ready…" Carol said quietly, giving him one last kiss and she closed her eyes.

"_Carol! Look at me._ I'm _not_ gonna kill you." Daryl said fiercely, grasping her shoulders, shaking her. Carol's eyes flew open.

_"Are you ready?"_ someone outside the room called in a harsh whisper.

"Give us a sec." Daryl replied, releasing Carol and pulling clothes out of a backpack he had stashed under the bed and handing them to her.

"Put these on—fast as you can, we need to move." Daryl said impatiently, pulling on his brown pants. Carol just sat there, still stunned.

_"Daryl?"_ she whispered. Daryl continued to dress as he looked over at her.

"We don't got all day, woman—get dressed!" he growled and then moved to the door to unlock it and let Michonne in. One look at them and the swords-woman knew exactly what had gone on here before her arrival—and besides that, the room reeked of sex.

"Give me her clothes." Michonne said with a smirk at Daryl and he glared at her as he handed them over. "I'll be right back." She told them, nodding at Carol, who still looked bewildered at this turn of events, but was now up and dressing.

"You planned all this? When?"

"Soon as we got back and saw what was happening. Ain't no way you did it—I'm gettin' you outa here 'til they come to their senses. Come on now—Michonne's got a walker she'll put yer clothes on and then put it on the pyre so's they think I did what I said. I told Rick I'd need some time alone…after…so they'll think I'm on a hunt. She'll hide you and then get you out after dark and take ya to where we'll meet up."

"You're coming _with_ me?" Carol asked, confused.

"'Course I am." He snorted at her like it was the stupidest question he'd ever heard. Because he didn't think she could survive out there on her own, she thought, tearing up, looking down at the floor.

Daryl came over and stood in front of her and gently lifted her chin so she had to look at him.

"Where else would I be?" he said, and he kissed her once, softly, his arms going around her and then he rested his forehead on hers_. "I'm yours, remember?"_ he reminded her.

And away flew all of the bitter, leaving only the sweet.


	2. Chapter 2: Nettles

_**Nettles**_

_**"Out of this nettle, danger, we pluck this flower, safety"**_** (**_**Henry IV, Part 1**__**,**_** Act II Scene 3)**

* * *

Daryl sat on his motorcycle about two miles from the Prison, waiting.

It had been hard, lying to Rick and the others, accepting their condolences and expressions of sorrow as they bid him goodbye. They were in mourning for all of the people who had been taken by this newest plague, good people, people he cared about as well, and he hated feeling like he was abandoning the survivors, but he had made his choice, he had decided which of them mattered _most_ to him and now he had to see it through.

He'd tried to leave without anyone noticing, but Carl had been waiting for him by the bike, his hat literally in his hands, sharing his anger over the Council's decision. His raised voice had alerted the others to Daryl's departure.

Tyreese had stood in the doorway, his features set in an angry stare, while the others had come out to see why Carl was so upset. After losing both Karen and Sasha, the big man had led the vote for execution, overruling Rick's motion for banishment, needing revenge on the woman who had confessed to a crime Daryl knew she hadn't committed.

"When I shot my mom I didn't have any choice—she was already gone—but Carol was alive!" Carl accused, throwing down his hat and stalking off. Carol had been the closest thing he'd had to a mother since he'd seen his own die, since he'd been forced to act to keep her from turning.

_"Carl!"_ Rick called, intercepting the boy after he slammed into and shoved over one of the big barrels that held the herbs that Carol grew for use in cooking. Carl looked, fighting his father's iron grip, furious tears running down his face as he glared up at him.

"How could you let this happen, dad?" Carl choked out, "You loved her _too_."

Carl and Rick's pain filled faces made Daryl look away in guilt. He wished he could've let his friend in on the plan, but the fewer people who knew Carol was still alive the better. And the erstwhile leader of their group would have felt honor bound to try to stop them regardless of his personal feelings.

_"What do you __want__?"_ Daryl had asked the small angry woman sitting next to him.

_ "A man of honor."_ Carol replied, looking him in the eye.

_ "Rick __has__ honor."_

The long ago conversation played back in his head...the night they'd been forced to flee the false sanctuary of the farm...Daryl looked around the prison. It had proved just as false. The walkers killed with more than their bites these days—they were walking incubators for every disease known to mankind and probably newer even more horrific ones that had yet to be discovered. Was anywhere safe anymore?

"It isn't my decision alone, Carl. In a _democracy_—" Rick said.

"We vote—yeah, I know—but it was the _council_, not allof _us_ who killed Carol." A calculating look came across Carl's face as he looked over his father's shoulder at Tyreese, and then at Daryl. "I won't forget that." Tyreese crossed his arms over his chest defiantly. Daryl met Carl's eyes and sighed sorrowfully. He hated to see the rift between the kid and the others, but for now it served his purposes.

"I gotta go." Daryl said tonelessly, nodding at Carl.

"Sometimes you gotta shoot your own dog, right Daryl? Isn't that what Hershel taught us?" Carl called out tauntingly. In his turn at story time the old vet had read _Old Yeller_ to them, his lesson on the necessity of granting mercy to the infected, even if they were much loved. It was brutal, but effective.

Pulling on his poncho over his coat and then slinging his cross bow over his back, his mouth a thin line, Daryl tried to jump start the Triumph, but it sputtered and died. He hung his head—_just let me get the fuck out of here already_; he pleaded silently with the machine.

"Daryl!" Rick yelled, releasing Carl's arm and running towards him. "How long?" he asked the hunter, noting the extra sacks of supplies he had bungeed to the bike.

"Long as I need." Daryl growled.

"We need you _here._" Rick said quietly, putting his hand on Daryl's forearm. Daryl looked down at the hand and then back up to Rick's face, his menacing scowl reminding the former lawman of just how dangerous this man really was. Rick released his grip and took a small step back.

"You 'bout used up all your _need_ of me for a while." Daryl said darkly, "I'll be back when I'm back."

"I'm sorry...I know you cared about her..." Rick tried to find the right words to help his friend, but Daryl shook his head adamantly.

"Uh uh. Didn't _care_ about her." Daryl scoffed, confusing Rick, but then he pinned the other man back with a look of such anguish that it brought tears to Rick's eyes_. "I love her"_ he ground out and then he rose up, making the motions to try to start the bike again, "Now get the fuck outa my way." he snarled and came down hard on the starter, the roar of the engine cutting off any further possibility of conversation.

It was only several days later, after things had really started going to hell and Daryl still hadn't returned, rehashing the conversation of that day in his head, that Rick realized Daryl had said _love_, not _loved_... _"I __love__ her"_….present tense.

* * *

_"Move!"_ Michonne urged Carol in her low rough whisper, holding the edges of the small opening in the wire in one of the few totally dark places on the prison perimeter. She was outside the fence, having taken out three curious walkers that wandered too close to their escape route. Carol shimmied through, glad of the black stocking cap and leather motorcycle jacket that she'd found in the backpack of clothes that Daryl had left for her. _Daryl…_ As Michonne rewired the opening Carol's mind drifted back to the events of this long day.

She really had thought he was going to kill her, otherwise she never would have told him...never believed _he_ would have…_shit._ Think of something else, Carol. _Anything else_ but the memory of those blue eyes above her, his hands, his mouth on her…

_"God damn it, Carol!"_ Michonne barked in that same guttural low voice, and then Carol was knocked on her ass by an elbow to her solar plexus and felt the swish of a blade through air above her head as the swinging katana cut through whatever monster had been at her back_. "Get your head out of your ass—we got walkers to deal with!"_

Carol reached for the knife at her belt before she remembered that they'd taken it from her—all her weapons—when they'd locked her up. She reached in her jacket pocket instead and found the long switch blade Daryl had pressed into her hand as he left them to go stand at the fire where her walker double's body was being burned. It spoke to her disturbed state of mind that she hadn't already had it at the ready.

Flicking open the lethal blade and coming off the ground into a crouch Carol scanned the area and saw Michonne slightly ahead, methodically and almost silently taking out the night marauders who had honed in on the two living breathing women. Carol stood and joined her and together they cleared a path to the tree line, sprinting away more quickly than the dead could follow.

God, it felt good to be out of there, Carol realized as they ran. When she'd woken up this morning she'd believed that the last place she'd ever see would be the inside of a prison cell. It had once felt like such a sanctuary, a place of safety, but now she found herself sadly agreeing with T-Dog's statement of so long ago. It had almost been her tomb once again…if not for Daryl... Christ, would the man ever tire of saving her?

"I think we're ok." Michonne said quietly, slowing and turning in a circle to assess the area. She held her sword before her in a protective stance as she looked over at Carol, scanning her up and down in much the same way. "You ok?"

"All right." Carol sighed, stopping and working to catch her breath, adjusting the straps of the back pack she wore so it rode more comfortably. "Sorry about back there—I should've had your back better." She apologized to the other woman.

"He _that_ good?" Michonne asked, sounding only mildly curious, taking out a rag and wiping down her sword, cleaning the blood and brain matter from the blade before she sheathed it with a _snick_ into the scabbard.

Carol's head came up in surprise, her mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, blushing. Michonne raised one eyebrow expectantly at her.

"You're usually not the distracted type." Michonne said, shrugging. "Come on. He's waiting." she said, indicating which direction they should go with a toss of her dreads before she set off at a ground eating jog. Carol sighed and followed, wondering what the hell she would say to Daryl when she saw him again.

* * *

"Any change to the plan?" Michonne asked Daryl, who was watching Carol, worried at her silence since the women had arrived.

He had known they couldn't leave the prison until the break in shifts at 4 a.m. when the part of the fence they had cut wouldn't be watched, and that on foot it would take them at least another hour after that, but it had still seemed like forever until they got to him.

He been relieved when he'd heard Michonne's signal call, the odd piercing screech of a juvenile owl, one of the hunting calls he and Merle had relied on. He'd taught them all to her when they'd been out on the road all those weeks running down leads on the Governor. He'd been amazed how well they got along on the tracking forays, but like him she didn't need the constant chatter of conversation or reassurances that he was paying attention to her every need in order to get along.

When the two had come into sight he'd let himself breathe a small sigh of relief. He motioned for Carol to join him on the bike, wanting to get as far away from the prison as they could before stopping. She hesitated and gave a questioning look to Michonne as if asking permission. _What the hell was that about?_

"I'm not going." Michonne said, realizing that when she saw the Hyundai parked nearby Carol must've thought the three of them were leaving together—had seen Daryl's gesture and had not understood that he meant for _her _and not his former search partner to join him on the bike. She went over to Carol and leaned in close.

_"He gave up everything for you, remember that."_ Michonne whispered, her strong hand squeezing Carol's forearm, and then she walked back to Daryl, asking him about the plan.

"I check the dead drop in a week, see if there's a message from you saying it's safe to come back." Daryl recited. "I'll check it four times total—if I don't hear anything from you in that month…well, it's been damn fine knowin' you." He held out his hand to the strong self-sufficient woman and she clasped it in a warrior's grip, hand to forearm, just as she'd done with Carol.

Michonne grinned and nodded and then looked back over at Carol.

"Well, go on then—he ain't got all night." She chided, pointing at the back of the motorcycle and then moved to the green car, slipping quickly inside and starting the engine, heading back for the prison.

Carol shifted nervously as she watched her buffer against Daryl's keen regard drive away. She didn't meet his eyes and her fingers plucked at the straps of her pack.

"Uh uh. No way. I'm not havin' that." Daryl said decisively, putting the kickstand down on the bike and coming off of it in a little skip hop, swinging his leg over and striding towards her. "After all this time I know you inside and out, woman—after this mornin' _literally_—and I can see you're closing up on me, so stop it."

The irony of this man telling her _she_ was being closed off made Carol sputter and back away evading him.

"You let me think..." she began, "You let me think that you were going to...that you were going to _kill_ me!" she accused, her eyes flashing at him in righteous indignation. His face fell into a slow lopsided smile.

"And?" he asked.

"And the whole time you p-planned..." Carol swallowed hard "You _planned._.."

"To get you out of there...to show you how I really felt about you." Daryl said softly, stalking her as she continued to back away, "To see if you felt the same way..."

"Under threat of imminent _death_?" she asked incredulously.

"Worked." he shrugged.

"Risky little game..." she told him. "I could've stolen your knife, hit you over the head, used your clothes to tie you up and escaped." she jutted her chin out at him—she wasn't the same helpless woman that Ed Peletier used to beat down.

"_Tie me up?_ Oh, now yer just makin' me hot, sweetheart," Daryl chuckled and his eyes roamed over the front of her jacket, "And add in the _leather_..." he was closer now, the hungry gleam in his eye making her skin tingle expectantly. His hand shot out to take her arm and she flinched back on reflex, tripping over the downed tree she hadn't known was behind her and she went backwards, his hand just missing hers as she fell.

_"Shit."_ Carol muttered, realizing she had landed in a patch of stinging nettles when the grasping hands which she had flung out to try to stop herself starting burning. She let go of the spiked green foliage, but it was too late, the small spines imbedded in the skin of her hands and wrists had already injected their toxins. Daryl grinned down at her until he realized that she had tears in her eyes and then came forward to help her up but she stopped him.

"Don't! Nettles—they burn." she told him. Daryl leaned in and grabbed hold of the front straps of her backpack and hauled her up to stand in front of him.

"Hold out your hands," he said gently, and grimaced when he saw they were already starting to come all over with angry red bumps where the spines of the plant had touched her. He frowned as she lifted her right hand to her mouth and started spitting on it.

"Saliva helps take away the sting—I don't have my medicine bag—nothing else to use." she told him, "Need to get the spines out too." she added between spits. She looked up at him expectantly.

"What?" he asked, a furrow appearing between his brows.

"I'm all out of spit." she said crossly, holding her hands up to his mouth. He shook his head at her and started backing up.

"Com'ere." he lead her to the bike and had her sit down on the seat.

"Daryl, you have to spit!" she said in the same aggrieved voice and he hid his smile by turning away to unhook the left set of bungee cords and setting the sack on the ground he dug in his saddle bags and pulled out a small leather satchel. "This what you need?" he asked her. She looked amazed.

"You brought my med kit bag?" she said, her tone softening, and she made to take it from him, but he shook his head no.

"I brought yer stuff—the important bits—now tell me what I'm lookin' for."

"Swiss Army knife—it has tweezers in the handle." After a moments consideration and a quick look around them, he set the small zippered bag down on the seat in front of her, unslung his crossbow and quickly set a bolt just in case. He let the bow rest against the inside of his leg and the ground as he leaned over her.

"You keep an eye out for company—don't need any walkers interruptin' my doctorin'." He told her, unzipping the bag and digging around, finding the small red multi-tool knife. He took her right hand in his, covered by the fingerless gloves he wore to ride with, and started gently pulling out the tiny spines.

Carol scanned the area around them, the paved road stretching out to the north and south, an open pasture field behind them and the glen where she had fallen in front. No walkers as far as the eye could see, so she turned her gaze back to him, his head bent over her hand like some gallant knight. The early dawn light showed her deep auburn highlights on the crown of his dark head, and the angel wings gracing the back of his leathers.

Carol knew every detail of him from years of surreptitious study, stealing looks while he stood watch over them all as they slept during their winter on the road, sitting beside him at the campfire, making sure he ate, stitching him back together when he was injured, watching him sleep on his perch right outside her cell door, following him with her eyes as he moved, all graceful ease, whether running or slipping from predatory stalking to quick crouch as he hunted.

Yesterday he had surprised her, using that animal grace to make love to her in a way that took her breath away, applying the same careful attention to detail that she saw him give whatever task he set himself to, focused, fully committed...and was he? _"I'm yours."_ he had said, repeating her dearest wish.

But she had only admitted that because she'd thought the rest of her life could be counted in minutes, perhaps an hour if she was incredibly lucky. Now the future stretched out before her and she was here, alone, with him. Was she really ready for this? Was he?

And what if Michonne never returned, what if they could never go back to the others? Would she be enough for him?_ "He gave up everything for you..."_ Was it fair of her to ask that of him?

Daryl switched to her left hand, breaking her reverie and Carol looked up, scanning the horizon.

"Walkers." she said, quietly but urgently, pulling his hand from his. At least ten of them, ragged as last year's scarecrows were making their way across the field towards them. The one in the lead was especially gruesome, its face missing the nose and lips, belly eaten away, dragging long ropes of intestines behind.

"Shit!" Daryl said, frustrated. He had barely gotten started on her left hand. There were too many for him to take out easily on his own and her hands would make it hard for her to hold a weapon. He quickly stowed the tools and her kit back in the saddlebag, bungeed on the gear and picked up his bow, pausing just long enough to take out the leader and reload before hopping on the bike and starting it.

"Hang on." he told her, and kicked it into gear.

* * *

They rode in silence for almost two hours until they reached what had been a large Home and Garden Center, several greenhouses and a few outbuildings still mostly intact. It was one of a series of safe shelters that he and Michonne had found when on their search missions all those months ago. Daryl had Carol wait on the motorcycle while he scouted it for any unwelcome visitors. He took out two walkers that had gotten trapped when the roof of one of the greenhouses had collapsed in on them, but the rest of the place was clear. He brought the bike with them inside one of the small windowless barn like structures people used as storage sheds and bolted the doors behind them. Moving to the corner he turned a crank-like winch and opened the small skylight in the roof, which let in light and fresh air.

"No place like home." he said, "It's small, but it's secure. You gonna be ok?" he asked, remembering her latent fear of tight spaces. Carol nodded, a bit unconvincingly, but he let it slide. No sense antagonizing her further. She was acting as prickly as those nettles she'd landed on, and he wasn't sure why. He supposed he could've told her sooner of his plan to help her escape, but some perverse demon in him had wanted to push her—to see how she really felt about him. He had kept hands off for long enough, treated her like she was some delicate flower, breakable, too good for his sullied paws when in reality he'd itched to hold her, to touch her like he'd done yesterday.

She'd welcomed his passion, had been as desperate to have him as he was to have her and he didn't think it was all just because she'd thought she was going to die.

"Let's see to those hands." Daryl said, moving to the bike and unhooking his bedroll and tossing the sleeping bag on the floor in the corner under the light. He pulled off his poncho to use as a pillow and indicated she should go sit while he unloaded the med kit and other supplies.

"So you've been here before?' she asked him as she made a place for herself on the bedding. Carol seldom went on runs, had only left the prison three or four times that she could remember in the last year and a half. It seemed like she was always needed more for the domestic side of things, leaving the runs and missions to the warriors, like him, like Michonne. Daryl nodded.

"With Michonne." Carol added with a stinging edge to her voice that she tried to hide.

_She was jealous_, Daryl smirked to himself. _Good, that was a place to start._

"Thas' right. Camped here last fall. Used it as a base for 'bout a week. Still had running water in the greenhouses, these lil'buildings...worked real good."

"Cozy." Carol said flatly, sitting cross-legged and resting her hands palms up on her upraised knees. He came and sat down in front of her and reached for the straps of her pack, but she leaned back and glared at him.

Daryl pursed his lips and huffed out a breath at her. Shit like this was gonna get old _real_ fast. It had already caused her to fall into the patch that had hurt her.

"You gonna wear that pack _all _the time?" he asked her, working hard to keep his voice even. He was angry, well...maybe more _hurt_ that she didn't exactly seem to trust him now.

Carol sighed, he was right; she should take off the pack. He was just trying to help her, not jump her.

"Ok." she said and reached up her hands to push the straps off of her shoulders, but they really hurt, a burn that radiated out from each raised hive, making her hiss in pain.

"Let me help?" he asked, schooling himself to patience. She looked over at him, his face calm, one eyebrow raised expectantly behind the screen of his shaggy bangs. Her blue eyed boy...

Carol nodded, dropping her hands, and he pulled the quick release buckle on the straps and the pack fell away behind her.

"Coat?" he asked and she looked pointedly at his, as if she was saying why should she take hers off if her was leaving his on, so he unsnapped his vest and then unbuttoned his jacket and pulled them off, revealing his tanned muscular arms. For a second Carol flashed back to him doing the same thing in Solitary the morning before and she blushed, looking away.

"I'll be able to get at your wrists better with it off." Daryl told her in a practical tone, holding up the med kit.

"Fine." she sighed and held herself stiffly as he reached in to unbuckle and then unzip the battered black leather.

"I _do_ like you in leather." Daryl said impishly as he pushed it off of her shoulders and then carefully pulled the sleeves off her hands, wincing along with her when they scraped the tender places where there were still spines imbedded. "Sorry...' he said.

"Not your fault." she said, biting her lip to keep from crying out.

"Thas right, it ain't." he agreed, laying her coat down and then getting out the tweezers to work on her left hand again. Carol glared at him, pulling her hand back.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"You fell because you flinched...because you thought I was gonna...that I would _ever_..." he made a disgusted sound. "Gimme yer hand." he said tonelessly. Frowning, she did.

He made quick work of the remaining spines, but Carol was still in pain, the poisons under her skin causing the equivalent of an allergic reaction.

"See if there's any Benadryl or antihistamines in there." Carol ordered, trying to resist the urge to rub her hands against her thighs to calm the maddening burning itch that continued to grow worse. It was like she'd been stung by dozens of tiny wasps. Fortunately most of her had been covered by clothing—she couldn't imagine the agony of this on more surface area of her body.

"Here." Daryl handed her a blister pack of tiny pink pills and a bottle of water. "So what else helps 'asides spit?" he asked. Carol quickly swallowed one of the pills, grateful for the cool water.

"Any itch relief cream—that pink stuff for poison ivy? They'd work, but I know I don't have anything like that."

"Anti-itch?" he asked, remembering something his mother used to do when he got into the ivy in the woods behind their house. "Hold on—I'll be right back. He pulled the pistol out of the back of his pants and set it in her lap. "Promise not to shoot me?" he asked wryly and she nodded.

He was gone what seemed like forever, but was only 15 minutes. The relief on her face when he returned gave him some hope she was thawing a bit. He carried a full plastic grocery bag of something green and bade her to sit back down on the bedroll.

Daryl pulled a handful of leafy greens out of the bag and showed them to her: dandelion plants.

"Next part's a little gross." he said and then popped a big wad of the leafy stuff in his mouth and began chewing it.

"You're having salad for dinner?" she asked, frowning, but he shook his head no and then pulled off his gloves so he could spit the masticated green glob into his bare hand. He held out his other hand.

"Gimme yer hand." he requested, and though still frowning, she did. He plopped the chewed leaves down onto her hand and almost immediately the itch there started to subside.

"Oh my god!" she said in relief, "That's amazing!" she looked up at him in wonder. "Gimme!"

They both chewed the greens until they had enough to coat her hands and then he cut the sleeves off of one of his only two long sleeved shirts and made her a sort of thumbless mittens, wrapping them like bandages starting at her wrists, keeping the soothing dandelion paste against her skin.

"My momma used to stew 'em and use the syrup to mix with bakin' soda for our poison ivy, but you said spit worked, so I thought this might do the trick." Daryl told her matter of factly, moving about the small space, pulling supplies out of his packs.

"Thank you, Daryl—this was a god send." Carol said sincerely. "I wish I could thank her too..." she let her voice trail off. Daryl never talked about his family, except for Merle. As much as he'd physically let down his guard with her yesterday, he was still very much a mystery to her in so many ways. Maybe that was why she was still unsure of him now, even after what had finally happened between them...

"We never...we never had much money for doctors and such." Daryl said quietly. "She knew all sorts of herbal things for healin'. She had an herb garden for that...used 'em to cook too...like you." His head came up, sensing her eyes on him, curious and expectant.

"Did you lose her? In the Turn?" Carol said gently, seeing the sadness on his face.

"Naw, she died when I was eight." he said, sitting down beside her.

"I'm sorry, Daryl." Carol said softly. His mouth curved into an odd little half smile, half frown and he shrugged.

"You prob'ly figured out by now... she was a lot like you...'cept she wasn't as strong." he murmured, giving her a sideways look. Daryl's voice went soft, the pitch slightly higher. "When he...when he beat her bad, after he left or passed out she'd go hide out in her room with her Virginia Slims and her wine, lock herself in and send me out to play. The last time...she fell asleep." his voice grew even quieter, "When I got home the house was gone, burned...so was she."

He stopped, his eyes looking off to the side. Carol waited, but he didn't say anything more. She moved so her upper arm touched his, leaned her head against his shoulder.

"Daryl?" she said,

"Yeah?" he said, looking down at her silvered short curls resting against him, liking how it felt to have her moving towards him instead of flinching away.

"I know you're not like Ed." Carol said, "It's just...when you grabbed for me it all came crashing back."

"He was like the nettles...Ed." Daryl said, "Like my daddy. Like Merle could be...Got under yer skin."

"Does that make you dandelions and spit?" she asked with a smile in her voice.

"Huh. Sounds about right." he chuckled.

"Daryl? Yesterday, when you asked me? What I wanted?" Carol reminded him.

"I remember."

"_This_..._this_ is what I wanted: caring, intimacy—what you've given me today."

"_Sooo_...not so much the hot sex?" he drawled, kissing the top of her head.

"Oh no, that too." she said matter of factly, making him snort and laugh.

"Have you noticed?" he asked.

"Noticed what?" she returned.

_"We're all alone..."_ he murmured, his arm going around her shoulders, nuzzling her cheek.

_"Daryl..."_ she sighed, holding her bandaged hands up.

"I can work with that." he grinned, pushing her back on the sleeping bag.

* * *

**"_Gently touch a nettle and it'll sting you for your pains/Grasp it as a lad of mettle and soft as silk remain."-_ Aesop**

_**Face your troubles head on.**_

_**I actually wrote this last night and this morning, before the episode aired but when Rick actually did what I wrote in "Indifference," and BANISHED our Carol I freaking cried. Why do I watch this show? Sigh. We better get some sort of reaction from Daryl...**_


	3. Chapter 3: Wild Thyme

_**Thank you so much for all of the interest in this story! I appreciate all of the follows, favorites and of course the reviews. Some Caryl sweetness, a bit of smut and learning more about one another in this chapter.**_

* * *

_**3. Wild Thyme**_

_It's the time of the season  
When love runs high  
In this time, give it to me easy  
And let me try with pleasured hands  
To take you in the sun to promised lands  
To show you every one  
It's the time of the season for loving.  
-_The Zombies

"You know we _will_ eventually need to go outside." Carol said, leaning down to press another kiss to the top demon on Daryl's right shoulder. He was lying sprawled on his stomach on the sleeping bag, naked as the day he was born, all long legs and tight ass, narrow waist to muscular broad shoulders, his head, resting on his left forearm, was turned so he could look back at her beside him. Carol was amazed at his ease with her now, remembering how he'd covered his scars with the quickly drawn sheet when she'd brought him dinner at the farm. They were a part of who he was, as much as his hair or eye color, as much as his many tattoos, and she'd explored them all thoroughly in the light of day, _all day_, today. The snake on his thigh, coiled, ready to strike, dangerous; a heart, a star, a cross, tiny ones on wrist, hand and the point where his shoulder met his neck respectively; the three demons, one on his bicep and the others that clawed up his shoulder, and the two names—each of them had a story she was sure, and maybe someday he'd tell her, but for now it was enough that he'd let her map them with her gaze, her lips, her tongue…

He'd been equally greedy to explore her, and she sighed a little sigh as she remembered how he'd stared at her as he'd undressed her, refusing to let her do a thing, tenderly reminding her of her injured hands, but there'd been another aspect to his demeanor, almost as if he was aroused by peeling away her layers to reveal the woman within. She was much more self-conscious this time than she'd been the first time they'd been together—it had been shadowed in the solitary cell and now it was bright day—but it was also that she'd had nothing to lose. So what if she wasn't a firm and curvaceous twenty something? So what if his hair was probably longer than hers? So what if he saw the scars that years of living with a husband who believed he owned your body, who used you as a human ashtray and punching bag…when you thought it would be your last time together, none of that mattered.

But it wasn't. It was the first time, yet it had happened without the usual awkwardness of new lovers. They already knew each others rhythms, understood what the other had needed without uttering a word, because they understood each others damage and used the bonds they had forged in this terrible new world. When you trusted someone with your life, how could you not trust them with your body?

The second time had been… very _different_ than the first. For one thing, he talked in almost a constant stream of endearments laced with profanity that was as surprising and amusing as it was arousing. Taciturn Daryl Dixon_ narrated_ sex, and he was good at it. She supposed in the cell the situation had been too serious, perhaps too rushed? But give him enough time and he enjoyed giving pleasure in ways she'd never imagined. Most endearing was how he asked her permission before he began, asking her to trust him, telling her he just wanted to make her happy, so if anything made her uncomfortable or she needed to stop, just say, or give his hair a yank, or pinch him-whatever she needed to do.

He'd started by rubbing her shoulders as she sat in front of him, deliberately reminding her of their first night at the prison.

"You know that was fuckin' unfair, that night." He growled, "I'as just trying to help you with the kick back and you turned it around on me."

"My shoulder _was_ sore…" she defended herself.

"Yeah and so was my cock the rest of the night. 'At's why I wanted to get down off the bus first so's you wouldn't notice how hard you made me—then you had to talk about wantin' me to go down on ya! Jesus lady, it's a wonder I could even _walk _after that! Thank god for that poncho—Glenn would a never let me hear the end of it, he'd seen _that._"

Carol tried to suppress her smile as she looked back over her shoulder at him, but he saw the pleased dimple appear in her cheek.

"Yeah, there's that same damn dirty flirty little shit eatin' grin…_screw around_? Good Lord, Carol." She turned her head forward and let her smile bloom. _So he had felt it too, it wasn't just her._ He leaned in close and pushed his strong fingers into her nape and up through her short hair, making circles over her scalp, relaxing her. She felt his breath at her ear as his hands moved to the points of her shoulders, holding her still.

_"What would you've done if I'd have said yes?"_ Daryl whispered. _"Would you have crawled into my sleeping bag? Invited me into yours? Or would you have drug me around the side of the bus?"_

"Bus…" she murmured, picturing it in her head.

_"Yeah? What would a happened?"_ his mouth was at her long elegant neck, dry chapped lips rasping against it as he kissed her there.

"Far side, away from the group so no one could see—fast so they wouldn't miss us…" she began.

_"What first?"_ he asked, sweeping his tongue out against her skin and she took a deep breath, letting it out as she spoke.

"The wild thyme—it grew there, in the prison yard, you could smell it when it was crushed underfoot—we'd been stomping all over that yard all day, breaking down the grass when we checked the walkers." Usually the decay was all they smelled, but the thyme was strong, astringent, a potent herb, a good smell. It always reminded her of that first night, when they were still so hopeful that the prison would be a haven, camped around the fire in the thyme scented grass.

_"I remember."_ Daryl said. Most of it was gone now, burned off and cleared with the other grasses so crops could be planted, corrals and pens built or graves dug.

"I'd have you kneel in it, on your knees in front of me." She said, swallowing hard, her breath coming faster, the idea of him obeying her orders so hot she almost couldn't go on.

_"And?" _he prompted, his fingers moving teasingly up and down her upper arms, shoulders to elbows.

"And you'd strip my pants off of me, fast, while I held onto the frame of the over turned bus—"

_"Would I drape your long legs over my shoulders?"_ he nipped her neck and then licked the place soothingly. Not trusting herself to speak she nodded her head. "_Use my thumbs to spread you wide, find your center with my tongue in long slow licks?" _

Carol moaned.

"_Are you wet?"_ he rumbled, _"Can I taste how much you want me?"_

Carol whimpered—did he mean now or in their little fantasy re-imagining? It didn't matter. It was both.

_"Do I fuck you with just my tongue—damn, so tight—so's I almost come in my pants?"_

Carol's head had fallen back against his shoulder and his hands had slid to her waist. He palmed her belly with the left, holding her against his body, while the right found her pants zipper.

_"Yes?"_ he asked, panting into her ear.

"Oh _god,_ Daryl, _yes."_ and he lowered the clasp, pushing under the material, then under the elastic of her panties finding her soft mound, pushing his fingers inside.

_"Do I suck down hard on your clit—so sweet…juicy and hard and soft…fuck, you taste good…"_ he groaned as his fingers circled in her slickness and her hips bucked up against his hand.

_"Daryl_—please _now_—do it to me _now!"_ she demanded, and pulling away from him she turned to face him, her face flushed, her pupils dilated with desire.

* * *

Much later, as the sun waned, she sat with her legs curled under her looking like some elfin sprite on a lily pad, the pink flush of whisker burn on her breasts vying for his attention with the pale constellation of freckles scattered over her collar bone.

"That mean yer puttin' clothes on?" he drawled, reaching his right arm up to run his fingers down the side of her waist to her hip.

"It means us _both_ putting clothes on." she drawled back. They had been in the little building all day and the skylight above told her it was growing dark.

"Fuck that." he grunted. For the first time in his life he had no responsibility to anyone but the one person _he _chose to be with. For a caretaker like Daryl that was a heady feeling—something like freedom—and he planned on enjoying it, and _her_, as long as possible.

"Daryl, I have to pee-and I'd like to do that while there's still some light so you can watch for walkers." she said with exasperation.

"If I say yes will you let me do that thing I wanna do?" he wheedled, curving his hand over her hip. Carol blushed and rolled her eyes. He kept staring at her until she finally nodded yes.

"Well, all right then!" Daryl said cheerfully and rolled to his side and sat up reaching for his discarded pants which he tugged on without bothering with his black briefs. Likewise he just pulled on his vest over his bare chest, fastening only two of the snaps. She could see the blue name over his heart peek out from the V of the vest and tilted her head at it, staring.

"He was my other brother." Daryl said quietly. Carol's head snapped up.

_"What?"_

"My twin. He died…he was still born…I lived…he died." He said it haltingly. It was something that he never discussed; was the reason he didn't celebrate birthdays except with a shot of Jack to honor his brother who never was.

"Daryl, I didn't know, you never said—I'm so sorry." Carol said, moving towards him, but he shied away, leaned back on the door to the shed, put his hand up, silently asking her for space, so she stood stock still and let him finish.

"He beat her, tryin' to make her lose the baby—didn't know there was two of us lil' mother fuckers in there. Said it wasn't his, that she'd been with other…men. Merle was 12—saw the whole thing, stole a car, took her to the hospital." Carol's eyes filled with tears. Ed had done the same to her. That was why she'd only ever had Sophia.

"They kept her there for almost a month. Threw the bastard in jail for a few months. I was born early, but I made it. Lil' Norm wasn't so lucky. She named him after her father—he'd died when she was younger—and I got Daryl, a Dixon name."

"That's why it's over your heart." Carol whispered and Daryl nodded.

"First time I ever went to a tattoo parlor—my sixteenth birthday—Merle was on leave, he paid." Daryl said, hanging his head and running his hand over his chest, "Hurt like hell." He chuckled. "Merle said I was a pussy if I cried, so I didn't. Then he took me out n' got me drunk. Puked all over the front seat of his car."

"Served him right." Carol said, stoutly supportive. Daryl snorted and looked up at her.

"That's what he said…sorta... _Should a known better than to treat his snot nosed baby brother like a man."_ Daryl grew agitated, "Said _Norman must a been the one with the balls an' he got stuck with the one with the pussy."_

"Daryl?"

"I broke his nose and told him to never say my brother's name again." Daryl spit out angrily. "And he never did." He said, deflating, his voice quieter, "It was like he'd never existed…after my momma died Merle was the only one who ever cared. It's just…he was another me—ya know? Maybe he _was_ the better one, would a been a better man…"

"Daryl." Carol said, this time ignoring his keep away body language, coming in close, crowding him back against the door. "Daryl, are you listening to me?" she put her bandaged hands on his chest, her right one over his heart, over the name of the brother he'd never known.

"Look at me, please?" she asked and his eyes slowly rose to hers. He was chewing on his lower lip, one of his tells for managing his anxiety and doubt, "_You_ are the best man I know." She told him adamantly. "Time after time you have done amazing things—saved people-you saved _me_. I _love_ you, Daryl."

He frowned at her, huffed out a breath, looked down at her hands and after a few beats nodded at her. His arms came up around her and he tucked her in tight to his body, her head on his chest and her ear to his heart.

_"You know I love you, right?"_ Daryl said softly. It was the first time he had said it out loud to her. _"I never…I never said that to a woman before."_

"It's about time." Carol sighed.

* * *

_**Thyme: aromatic cooking herb also used as a strong antiseptic (full of the chemical thymol); in warm climates it comes back as a perennial and reseeds to grow wild when introduced.**_

_**As I was working on this chapter, driving home from work I had on an oldies radio station and "The Time of the Season" came on. I thought, huh—that sort of fits—but then when the DJ said it had been sung by the Zombies, well, how much more perfect could it be? **_

_**What do you think of my solution to the Norman tattoo? I was inspired by a story I saw years ago about Elvis Presley, whose twin, Jesse Garon had been stillborn.**_

_**Right now I needed Caryl to be alone in their own little love bubble for a bit without worrying about the influence that other people have on their lives—mostly because I think we **__**all**__** need that right now; but they will be moving on soon—no place remains safe for long in this apocalyptic landscape.**_


	4. Chapter 4: Rue

_**4. Rue**_

_'Here in this place  
I'll set a bank of __rue__, sour herb of grace;  
Rue, even for truth, shall shortly here be seen,  
In the remembrance of a weeping queen.' _

"What's that from?" Carl asked after the lovely young blonde had finished singing the beautiful sad tune.

"It's from a set of songs from Shakespeare's plays." Beth said, taking another handful of ashes, mixed with dried herbs, and lifting them high so the wind here on the roof on the back side of the main prison building would blow them away. "We sang them in concert choir."

"Which play?" the boy asked, dipping his hand into the copper kettle full of grey and black that they had gathered after the pyre had cooled. He'd heard of _Hamlet_ and his mom had taken him to see a fun production of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ in Atlanta once. He'd followed it pretty well—had liked when the guy got turned into an ass and thought Puck was cool.

"_Richard the Third_—it's about a mad king...a tyrant..." Beth's eyes darted to the side, wondering if Carl might realize she was subtly criticizing his dad, who had re-assumed his leadership role, heading the Council in the wake of the epidemic, the murders and Carol's sentence.

Beth had loved Carol very much—the kind woman had been the mother figure to both she and Carl since they had left the farm. Carol had helped save her father after he'd been bitten and they had all rejoiced when Daryl had found her alive in the Tombs. Everyone had been grateful for her steadying influence after the arrival of the people from Woodbury and all of the new outsiders who had joined them here in the sanctuary provided by these fences and walls.

"She did what she thought she had to do to stop the outbreak. They were wrong to do this._ He_ was wrong." Carl said, his voice low but adamant. He looked down at the ashes he held in his hand. "We _bury_ the ones we love and burn the rest." he said, his voice now growing angry, repeating what he'd heard so often in the last two years.

Beth's head lowered, remembering that's what Jimmy had told her Andrea said at the barn the day her mother...the day Carol's _daughter..._

"We should've buried her." Beth agreed, filling her hand with the dry flakes of the remnants of a human body, the body of a person they had cared about. She'd mixed in the fragrant herbs from Carol's cooking supplies as a sort of funerary wreath, using rosemary, thyme and sage and then had remembered singing about the rue, a bitter herb planted in remembrance of a fallen queen.

"Tyreese wouldn't have her in the same plot as Karen and Sasha, you know that." Carl said coldly. He could understand the man's sorrow, but Carol had been family, no matter what she had supposedly done. He tossed the fists full of ashes high and hard and watched them fall like dull jet trails down to the ground far below.

"What do you suppose he said to her?" Beth asked, watching another handful fall from her grayed fingers and catch on the wind, floating, spinning up and out over the forest below.

"Tyreese?" Carl asked, tilting his head at her, brushing back his too long bangs, unwittingly leaving a smudge of ash on his forehead.

"No. _Daryl_." Beth said, thinking of how somber the tracker had been the night he'd brought her the news of her boyfriend Zack's death. She'd tried to comfort him, telling him she was ok, that she didn't cry any more, numbed by so much death. She was touched that he seemed so troubled and had even hugged the unyielding man.

"Do you think he'll come back?" Carl asked. He'd seen the look of anguish that Daryl had given his dad at the end, just before he'd roared out of the fortified gate.

"Daryl has his code." Beth said, recalling the words Carol had once said to reassure her. "He's hurting but I don't think he'll abandon the family. Last time he left us he came back."

"I think the family already abandoned _him_ when they forced him to kill Carol." Carl said darkly.

Beth still found it hard to believe he had carried out the cruel sentence. She hoped Daryl'd had the courage to tell Carol how he felt about her before he told her goodbye. Before it was too late... She was glad she'd been able to say goodbye to her father, tell him how much he meant to her, before he'd slipped away, his heart too damaged by the virus to sustain him any longer.

One raindrop, then two fell into the ashes in the copper pot she held, making them briefly puff up from the displacing wet impacts. Beth frowned and looked up, confused when she saw only clear blue sky.

"Here." Carl said, holding out his bandana to her.

"What?"

"Beth—you're _crying..."_ Carl said gently.

* * *

_**Two Days Earlier**_

"By a vote of five to two, the motion for execution has been passed. Our next order of business is the manner by which said execution should take place." Rick said flatly. The secret ballot had meant Daryl didn't know who else had voted against the motion. He knew Tyreese's vote, but looked around the room, wondering which one of his friends had decided that Carol deserved to live, knowing that meant that all of the others wanted her death. Had Maggie's grief over her father trumped the closeness she'd once felt for the older woman? Did the Woodbury woman, Elsa, who had known Karen and David longest, have any room in her heart to consider Carol's innocence a possibility? What about Rick, Michonne, and Glenn?

"You're the injured party here, Ty—what do you think?" Elsa asked.

"I say same way she killed, she should die. Knife to the back of her skull and then burn her."

The rest of the people in the room shifted uncomfortably in their chairs. It was one thing to take out a walker that way, but the living? Someone who had been one of them?

"Who?" Glenn asked, uncomfortably, "I mean do we draw lots?"

"I'll do it." Daryl said quietly, shocking the room. "Do it quick—she won't have no pain." He looked each one of them in the eye, his fury clear, but his voice remained low, deadly, "Last face she sees should be one who cares, not some fuckin' executioner in a black hood." He stood then, throwing his chair to the side and left the room before anyone could object.

* * *

Daryl lay on his bunk, staring up at the light green stone he rolled over and over in his fingers, like a magician practices with a coin to stay nimble.

"Still playin' with that? Thought you were gonna give it to Elsa for her man's marker." Michonne said, leaning against the doorway of Daryl's cell. Daryl had scooped it up off the road as they searched for new wheels after losing Zack's car to the herd while on the run to the Vet school.

Daryl didn't reply. It had been an ass covering lie anyway. It was jasper, a healing and protection stone. His momma had been into herbs and crystals and mystical energies and all that crap, and every once and awhile he'd remember something about it. He'd liked the idea of giving Carol something that his momma would a liked; thought maybe the weight and solidity of it in her pocket could remind her that even when he couldn't be there, their connection was. He hefted the stone in his hand and threw it hard against the far concrete wall of the cell, shattering it into several smaller pieces.

It had been a stupid idea.

"So how you gonna do it?" Michonne asked, ignoring his destructive act and deliberate hostile silence. When she didn't leave he glared up at her.

"You heard the order." He muttered.

"And you're feelin' all kinds of shitty about it, aren't you?" she asked, briefly looking down the corridor to her left and frowning.

"She didn't do it." Daryl said with total conviction. He'd been turning over ideas for how to help her escape as he turned over the stone, but what could he do with Tyreese and Rick watching her like a pair of self righteous vultures?

Michonne sauntered into the room and leaned over him, her face inches from his, her eyes roaming speculatively to his downcast mouth and back up to his red rimmed eyes. She leaned closer, bracing her hands on the bed on either side of his broad shoulders, staring at him intently with her dark eyes.

She leaned closer until her lips were at his ear, her dreads brushing against his forehead. He could smell her: spicy leather, sweat and ginger.

_What the hell?_

"So how are_ we_ gonna get her outa here?" Michonne whispered and she raised her head to look down at him, raising an eyebrow.

Well, at least now he knew who had voted _with _him.

_"Daryl? Listen I…"_ Tyreese had started into the cell but was pulled up short when he saw the rather compromising position the couple on the bed seemed to be in. Their heads turned towards the other man and when Daryl would've pushed her away, she put one strong hand on his chest, forcing him to remain still, and sat down beside him on his bed as if she had all the right in the world to be there, as if she'd done it a hundred times before.

"Daryl's a little busy right now, Ty—give us a bit?" Michonne said easily, smiling knowingly as she looked over at the big man. Tyreese's facial expression went from surprise to one of understanding and he nodded.

"Sorry to interrupt—I just wanted to say I was sorry it went down this way—but I guess I was wrong about…. Well, anyhow, I guess I see which way the winds blowin' these days." He said with a sardonic smile. "I'll let you get back to your…uh…_discussion_." And then he turned and left the room.

Daryl waited until they could no longer hear his heavy footsteps and then looked down at Michonne's hand on him.

"You about done molestin' me?" Daryl drawled. She pulled her hand off of him and snorted.

"I saw him coming. Better he thinks we got somethin' goin' on so he won't suspect you of reneging on the execution." Michonne said softly.

"Why are you helping me?" Daryl asked. They had gotten to be good friends on their search for the governor. She was one of the few people he'd tried to talk to about his feelings for Carol, but going against the rest of the Council was risky.

"We're both fucked up loners, Dixon. Life's a lot easier when you got no ties, but it's an empty life. When we can find someone who takes away the hurt and the lonely, we should hold onto that person with everything we have. If I hadn't left Andrea behind, she might still be alive. I don't see the need to make you repeat my mistakes."

Daryl looked up at her and saw the tears fill her eyes when she talked about the woman she'd had to watch die in a basement torture chamber in Woodbury.

"You have a chance to be happy with her, Daryl...with Carol." Michonne said quietly, with great feeling.

She leaned away from him and picked up one of the jagged chips from the jasper stone, the tears running down her cheeks.

"You'll rue the day if you throw that chance away."

With the swords woman's help Daryl had been able to get Carol out of the prison and to safety. He couldn't have done it without her.

* * *

_**Present Day**_

Daryl had done what he promised and had taken Carol out of the small building into the main shop attached to the greenhouse that still had an intact working bathroom, but warned her if she needed to go at night she'd have to make do with the bucket on the corner of their little make shift cabin. It was just too dangerous to venture out in the dark.

She'd seized on the opportunity of running water-even cold running water was a luxury-to indulge in a quick sponge bath, knowing she'd feel more refreshed, but was a bit bereft that she'd be washing some of his scent off of her at the same time. Leather and pine, motor oil and old tobacco and sweat—it was uniquely Daryl and she felt protected by having it on her. He stood guard outside the door, which she'd left open.

As he waited for Carol to finish in the bathroom of the Garden Center store, Daryl undid and then reached inside the zippered pocket of his vest, pulling out the largest of the broken pieces of green stone that he'd picked up off of the floor of his room that day as they'd quietly made their plans. It had cleaved almost perfectly into a ¼ inch irregular cube shape, more lustrous than the original stone. Sometimes a thing had to be broken to show its true beauty. He had given Michonne the rest of the fragments, and she was to include one with each note at the drop point so he would know it was really from her.

"Pretty." Carol said, smiling as she came of the other room and saw him playing with the stone. Daryl handed it to her and she held it up to the light, translucent green with small pepper black flecks. Its cool slick surface felt good against her still sore fingers as she turned it. She'd had him remove the bandages so she could wash and her hands looked so much better she'd left them off.

"Jasper." He said. "Healing and protection."

"Gorgeous jade green color." Carol said admiringly and held it out to return it to him on her palm, like you would carefully offer a sugar cube to a horse so it wouldn't accidentally bite your fingers, your hand flat and open, but he closed her fingers over it, making them into a fist.

"It's yours." He said softly, and she frowned at the gamut of emotions playing across his face. She leaned up on her tiptoes and kissed him lightly, bracing her hand on his bicep for balance.

"Thank you." she smiled and then carefully placed the stone in her front pants pocket, just where he imagined it should go.

"I wanted to do a look around here before dark and see if there's anything you think is useful that I might not have picked up on last time I was here." Daryl told her. She nodded in agreement and they moved through the store, him with his bow at the ready and her with the pistol.

"This." Carol said, pulling a small thick book with a green cover out of a rack in the Garden area and showing it to him.

"_Medicinal Herbs." _Daryl read.

"Your dandelions inspired me—I know that Hershel used elderberry tea to help with the flu symptoms—and I've heard the same compounds in aspirin are in willow bark—I should learn as much as I can. What modern medicines that there are left will eventually go bad…" her voice trailed off. Daryl knew that the antibiotics that had saved him the day he'd fallen down a ravine and stuck an arrow through his side and then gotten shot were fast becoming a thing of the past.

"We should all learn more about what's right under our noses." He nodded at her, very serious, his bow propped on his hip, leaning against the counter.

Carol raised an eye brow and blinked her eyes at him, she couldn't help it.

"I always knew you was there…" he said, rolling his eyes, standing and coming closer, "I just didn't know what to do with ya…" and he bumped her slightly with his elbow like he'd done the morning before everything had gone to shit at the prison, when they'd been in the groove of preparing for the day, teasing about poor dead Patrick's hero worship, Daryl licking his fingers as he ate from the bowl she'd prepared for him.

"I think you figured it out, _Pookie_." She said with a tiny rueful smile, wishing they could go back to when it had all been so simple, before the graceful everyday rhythm they had all established in the prison community had soured so badly.

Daryl grinned at the pet name, but when he saw the look of sadness pass over her face he put his free arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her temple. She turned her face and looked up at him, saw the warmth in his eyes and slowly smiled. He smiled too and nodded at her. They were together. They would deal with whatever happened.

"Let's get back while we still have a little light." He said, the no nonsense tracker once again, but then he winked at her_. "Somebody owes me a fantasy…"_

* * *

**Rue****: **_**Ruta graveolens**_**, a strong smelling bitter herb. At one time the holy water was sprinkled from brushes made of rue at the ceremony usually preceding the Sunday celebration of High Mass, for which reason it is supposed it was named the Herb of Repentance and the Herb of Grace. **

**The Italians make a rue sprig charm, the **_**Cimaruta**_**, which is said to ward off the evil eye. **

**Rue has also been regarded from the earliest times as successful in warding off contagion and preventing the attacks of fleas and other noxious insects. **_**Too bad Michonne didn't have any…**_

**It was also considered a sign of adultery in women since a decoction of it was used to induce abortion. **

**In Shakespeare's **_**Richard the Third**_**, the atmosphere at court is poisonous: The established nobles are at odds with the newcomers, a hostility fueled by Richard's machinations. When the Lancaster king, Henry VI dies, **_**his widow, Queen Margaret, returns in defiance of her banishment and warns the squabbling nobles about Richard**_**. Queen Margaret curses Richard and the rest who were present. The nobles, all Yorkists, reflexively unite against this last Lancastrian, and the warning falls on deaf ears.**

**More than a little similarity to TWD at the moment? All hail Queen Carol!**

_**Next time**__**: Daryl's fantasy…**_


	5. Chapter 5: Honey

_**5. Honey**_

_It's you, it's you, it's all for you  
Everything I do  
tell you all the time  
Heaven is a place on earth with you  
Tell me all the things you want to do  
I heard that you like the bad girls  
Honey, is that true? _

_It's better than I ever even knew  
they say that the world was built for two  
Only worth living if somebody  
is loving you  
maybe now you do._

-Lana Del Ray, "Video Games"

* * *

"I can't believe I let you talk me into doing this." Carol said, pouting.

"Oh—tha's nice—I like the pout—go with that." Daryl said silkily, pacing in front of her, three steps left, three steps right, canting his head every time he stopped so he could look at her from a slightly different angle. He was shirtless, bare foot, the top button of his pants undone, the waist riding low on his hips. His motions were sinuous, a lone wolf, stalking prey.

Carol refused to look at his eyes, knowing that the simmering calculating look of a man with plans would make her come undone if she did.

"Sweeter'n honey…_damn_ I wish I had a camera." He sighed, and the idea of that made her overbalance and he swiftly stepped closer to steady her.

She was sitting on his motorcycle, wearing nothing but his leather vest.

* * *

She was finding out that Daryl as a lover was very much the sensualist—touch, smell, taste, sight, sound—all of them seemed equally appealing to him when it came to being with her.

Earlier, after their little reimagining of the first night at the prison had proved so…fulfilling…she had asked him if he ever had any other fantasies that he'd never gotten to try out. He'd gone silent and a very lust filled look flashed across his face, but then he'd ducked his head shyly, embarrassed. When she'd finally coaxed it out of him, it had been her turn to blush and duck her head.

_ "I want to watch…uh…"_ he said very softly and quickly and then he cleared his throat _"…watch you…" _his eyes flashed up to briefly meet hers before returning to the wrinkles of the sleeping bag they were laying on. Watching his own hand as it smoothed them flat.

"Watch me?" she asked, puzzled. He watched her all of the time. She'd often felt his eyes on her as she went around her daily tasks at the prison. He'd watched her since the farm, when he'd so surprised her by bringing her a symbol of hope; then after the barn when he'd sat with her in the RV; since _before—_the night on the highway in the RV she'd been crying in the back bunk but had stopped when she heard him rise, felt his eyes on her.

"When you…" he stopped, looking up at the ceiling, "Shit, I can't believe I'm sayin' this…" and he took a big breath before saying all in a rush, _"I wanna watch you when get yourself off…"_

Carol's eyes went wide—how did he even know she _did_ that?

"I heard you once…in the showers. I didn't mean to—didn't know you were even in there." He said quickly, tensing for the smack or slap he was sure she'd deliver, but she just sat there looking bemused…

It had been about a month ago. He'd come in to the shower area after a long day manning the fences. Sweat slick, blood and grime covered, exhausted, he'd been looking forward the hot shower all day. Since one of the new men in from Decatur had rigged up a generator that powered the water heaters, they'd had a limited amount of hot running water and workers on the nasty scut work details got priority.

He'd greeted his fence clearing partner, Maggie, her hair still wet; leaving the room and had asked her if the place was clear. With a guileless smile she told him yes and he'd thanked her and gone in. He still wasn't sure if Carol had come in the other entrance or if Maggie was making mischief, but after he'd shrugged out of his clothes in the locker room area he'd heard water running. He'd wrapped a towel around his hips, ready to give whoever was usurping his shower time a piece of his mind, striding into the area where they had rigged shower curtains to afford some semblance of privacy.

He saw a familiar pink robe hung on the hook beside the shower stall under a floral patterned towel. _That's Carol's things._ Damn woman was stealing his hot water. Just as he was about to give her what for her heard her humming a tune he thought he recognized, and then he was surprised when she started softly singing, the melody slightly haunting:

_It's you, it's you, it's all for you  
Everything I do  
tell you all the time  
Heaven is a place on earth with you  
Tell me all the things you want to do  
I heard that you like the bad girls  
Honey, is that true? _

And then her voice returned to humming the same tune. He heard what sounded like a light slap as her bare back hit the white tile wall and he could see just the smallest sliver of her wet pale body, the curve of her ass, through the tiny gap between the curtain and that wall. And then her breath gave a little hitch and she sighed, and the exhalation became a sort of little strangled moan, with a long _"mmmm"_ on the end.

Startled, Daryl stepped back. _Holy shit._

Torn between the desire to flee and the totally opposite one to pull open the curtain, Daryl remained frozen in place, listening, as her breathing became more erratic, punctuated by whimpering groans of more _"mmmms" _and_ "uhs," _and_ "ohs" _as she fought herself to stay quiet even as her pleasure increased.

He knew he should leave, that he was invading her privacy, that this was….well, as _wrong_ as it was, it was also the most fuckin' sexy thing he'd been party to since their first night at the prison.

_"Oh, yes, yes, please…"_came the soft high pitched plea, and Daryl swallowed, hard as iron. He leaned forward, lifting his hand towards the curtain.

_"Daryl!"_ she said and gave a sharp agonized cry, clearly coming with his name on her lips.

Daryl fled.

* * *

Carol remembered that day. Michonne had returned with an unusual bounty from her travels, wrapped in a several big black plastic garbage bags, the contents of a set of trays from an apiary. Honey was a natural sweetener, something that was welcome since their last stores of sugar were dwindling. They could also use the beeswax for candles and as a lubricant for certain machinery.

Carol had spent most of the afternoon extracting the liquid gold from the combs and then heating both to high temperature and as a result had never felt so hot and literally _sticky_ in her entire life. Gordon, who had been a mechanical engineer, had told her that the generator was running at peak efficiency, meaning the hot water was at its best in the late afternoon, so she quickly gathered her things and ran over to the showers, leaving her clothes in the small bathroom where she preferred to change. Maggie had just been rinsing her hair and hadn't even turned off the spray when she heard Carol's greeting.

"Jump in—it's the perfect temperature!" Maggie said, laughing, as she pulled open the curtain and stepped out, all glowing skin and lush curves. The girl was the epitome of youthful beauty, like her sister, ripe and wholesome, and Carol sighed, wishing away the years, the bad choices she had made when she was that age.

"Thanks, sweetie. I'm a sticky mess from the honey!" Carol smiled, pulling off her robe and stepping under the warm water, sighing as it flowed over her skin.

"Glenn said he can't wait to taste it." the younger woman said with a gleam in her eye, drying herself off and pulling on her robe.

"I'll bet." Carol rolled her eyes, wetting her short hair; imaging to what use the two young lovers would put the syrupy golden sweet.

"Hey Carol, who knows? Maybe there's someone who'd like to lick it offa you too..." Maggie teased. Carol snorted. That was as likely as farmer Rick burning down his pigpen.

"Later, Maggie." Carol called, and heard the outer door open and slam shut as the girl left. She squeezed out a small amount of the watered down rose scented shampoo she liked into her hand, using it to quickly wash her locks and then used the lather to do a quick scrub on her body. As her hands moved over her breasts, slippery sticky, she thought of him, the tracker, imagining it was his big hands on her instead, circling the small but full rounded handfuls, pinching the centers to peaks, sighing as the sensation warmed her, shooting like sparks straight to her core.

_Daryl..._ what would it feel like to have his mouth on her? His tongue sweeping across her flesh, licking away the sweet stickiness that her work with the honey had left? Or what if she drizzled it, warm and slow, over herself, making a path to where she wanted his mouth, his tongue, to follow? Snatches of a song she'd loved played in her head, Lana Del Ray's haunting voice,

_It's you, it's you, it's all for you  
Everything I do  
tell you all the time..._

Her right hand drifted lower, tracing circles on her abdomen, around the indentation of her belly button, over the scars left by the bad choices of her youth. All that time being the _good_ girl, and what had it gotten her?

With his dirty mouthed scowls and his long hair, his bow and his bike and his smokes and his leather, Daryl was the epitome of everything her mother had warned her against; why she'd chosen a man with a good job and 'prospects,' instead of one of the wild ones, the ones she was _really_ attracted to...

_Heaven is a place on earth with you  
Tell me all the things you want to do  
I heard that you like the bad girls  
Honey, is that true? _

She let her hand push lower, finding her cleft, sticky swollen from the wicked thoughts of him and her back slapped back against the wall for support, her breath catching.

_"I'll go down first..."_ She could still hear him say it—it fueled many a happy shower alone time like this for her. Would he be wild? Uninhibited? Or guarded and shy? She craved the chance to find out; craved _him_ like a child does forbidden sweets, looking longingly at them behind a shop window.

Her fingers worked quickly now, her shower time was limited after all, and she filled her mind with image after image of him, his powerful arms, sweat glistened as he swung the axe, chopping firewood; his elegant ass in those tight black pants as he stood with his back to her, talking with Hershel; his predatory lope across field to the prison perimeter as he moved to help with the fence clearers; the quiet smile when Judith held up her hands to him to be picked up; the intensely satisfied way he looked at her every time he came back and she was waiting there at the gate to welcome him...

_"Oh, yes, yes, please…"_

_"Daryl!"_

* * *

_If only I'd have known he was out there,_ Carol thought, _maybe I'd have invited him in to join me._ She was just about to surprise him by agreeing to his fantasy when he cleared his throat again. Carol raised an eyebrow.

_"Tha's not all."_ he said softly, and that lust drenched look was back in his eyes. He reached back behind him and picked up his vest. _"Leather. Just this."_ And then he nodded his head at the motorcycle parked just inside the door of the small shed. _"On the bike."_

"Did you look at Merle's collection of Easy Rider magazines a _lot_ when you were growing up?" Carol teased, naming a magazine catering to motorcycle aficionados, which often had scantily clad biker babes featured in centerfold style.

Daryl blushed furiously, embarrassed, thinking she was mocking him.

"Forget it." He bit out and tossed the vest back down, his eyes shuttered, looking anywhere but at her. Realizing she'd hurt him, Carol touched his shoulder with her bandaged hand.

"Daryl?" she asked apologetically, and he didn't shrug off her hand. Instead he put his own over her wrist and clasped it, raising it to his mouth and placing a light kiss in the crook of her elbow.

"Nah-it's fine, it was stupid. I didn't mean ya actually had to do it—just a fantasy, right?" he said evenly, "Never meant to really happen." He pulled her closer, nestling her to his chest and kissing her cheek, chin, nose. She looked over at him, his face impassive as he gazed at her.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"When I was in the shower?"

"Yeah?"

"_This_ was my fantasy. _You_ were _my_ fantasy."

He'd been mollified and she'd been happy to continue her apology in a slow and intimate way.

* * *

Later in her bargain for him getting dressed and escorting her to the facilities, she'd agreed to his twisty little leather and chrome based prompt, which had brought them to this point.

"Carol? You ok?" he asked as he steadied her on the bike, his hands going to her waist, to the places where the two laces wound through the grommets to loosen or tighten the leather. Her eyes rose to his, huge, and then the crystal blue was veiled as her lashes drew down over them slowly, her hands grasping at the leather seat behind her.

"I feel silly." She said in a small voice.

"You do?" he asked, softly concerned, his right hand rising to cup her chin and lift it. "Honey, look at me." He coaxed, and her eyes briefly rose to his, but then looked away again. "Tell me."

"I'm not—" Carol began, but he interrupted her.

"Not what?" Daryl drawled, leaning close, running his index finger down from her chin to her throat, stopping at the little indentation at its base, "Not so soft that I want to drape you over me like satin sheets?" his finger continued its downward meandering path until it was at the v of her cleavage, drawn together by the tightly laced vest. He hooked his finger inside the vest and gave one sharp tug forward and the first snap popped open with an audible _click_. He moved the finger down to the next. "Not in possession of the sweetest tits and ass I've ever had the pleasure of viewin' up close and personal?"_Click_ went another snap and the vest gaped, revealing more of her.

"_Daryl..."_ she protested. He really wasn't playing fair. She wanted to tell him that she felt silly pretending to be something she wasn't, but really, who _was _she anymore? She wasn't an abused wife, she wasn't a mother, and she wasn't the caretaker who kept the prison running, willing to sacrifice herself. In a way the woman she had been wasn't even really alive any more. Daryl had killed her in the cell in Solitary when he'd made love to her and told her they were leaving….together. Why should she be afraid to do whatever the hell _she_ wanted to do, here in this place with the man she loved?

_Heaven is a place on earth with you  
Tell me all the things you want to do  
I heard that you like the bad girls  
Honey, is that true?_

Daryl's eyes rose to hers as she whispered the words to the song he'd heard in the prison shower room all those weeks ago. He had always put her on a pedestal in some ways—seen her as this paragon of aggrieved motherhood—a true lady who had overcome a bad marriage and the death of her daughter, had survived death when others around her had not… Even when she'd teased him, like that night on the bus, turning him on but letting him off the hook, she'd been too pure, too good for him, all rough hands, a tongue tied dirty faced redneck in scruffy torn clothes. He'd cared for her, hell, maybe even loved her, in part because she was like a goddess, perfect and unattainable.

He'd worked hard to make himself a better man, a worthy man—someone who was respected. And it wasn't just for her; he'd liked feeling he helped the whole group survive, supported his family in any and every way he could. They'd both contributed much to the community, attaining equal high status in the new group hierarchy, serving side by side on the Council, setting policies and work details, making important decisions. It had meant spending more time together and they had grown even closer, each taking comfort in the shorthand of long acquaintance, their lives in synch. He knew she cared for him, respected him, trusted him.

That day in the showers was when he'd finally realized that she really _wanted_ him too. That it wasn't just his overheated brain imagining that the flirting meant more than it did; she was getting off and using him, _saying his name,_ to do it.

Just like he did…to _hers._

"Say my name again." He said gruffly, tossing his head back as he raised his right hand to shift his bangs off his brow, and then his hands moved to hold her hips, keeping her steady on the seat of the bike, the pads of his fingers dimpling into her silken flesh.

_"Daryl…"_ she purred, dragging out the syllables, staring into his cerulean eyes, her hands coming off of the bike to grasp his corded forearms.

_"Say my name while you touch yourself." _he growled in a low rumble, _"Be my bad girl…"_ he urged. _"I've got you, honey." _He promised, gently.

_It's better than I ever even knew  
they say that the world was built for two  
Only worth living if somebody  
is loving you  
__Now you do._

* * *

_**The haunting Lana Del Ray song "Video Games," is something I found on Melissa McBride's twitter & just fell in love with. The chorus is the only part that I've used here—please go listen to it on whatever music provider you use—I played it over & over when I was writing this.**_

_**Because of its honey and its sting, the bee represents mildness and mercy on one side and justice on the other.**__**The Greek name for honey bees is **__**Melissa.**__** In that mythology, it is the name of a princess of Crete who was changed into a bee after she learned to collect honey.**_

_**So far, the oldest remains of honey have been found in Georgia (the one in the former USSR) where honey was packed for people's journeys into the afterlife. Ancient Egyptian and Middle Eastern peoples also used honey for embalming the dead.**_

_**When honey is used topically (as, for example, a wound dressing), hydrogen peroxide is produced by dilution of the honey with body fluids. As a result, hydrogen peroxide is released slowly and acts as an antibacterial to help in healing.**_

_**Speech is honey; it represents softness, justice, virtue and divine goodness.**_

_**In modern psychoanalytical thinking, honey symbolizes the **__"higher self"__** the ultimate consequence of work on one's inner self, something both Daryl and Carol have done a lot since the Turn.**_

_**I needed to figure out why after all this time the switch flipped for Daryl; why he was able to overcome his reticence and initiate a physical relationship with Carol. Her death sentence gave him the opportunity to push her to express how she really felt, but he needed to have a pretty good idea beforehand that she would respond positively to his overtures. His little accidental voyeur moment in the showers shocks him. She's not just his gently teasing best friend, the idealized woman he loves from afar, too damaged by her abusive marriage to deal with his rough language and ways or the things he needs from a lover; she's a flesh and blood woman who desires him. **_

_**Carol has always felt constrained by other people's expectations of her. By befriending Daryl back at the farm she started denying them. He was **__**not**__** the sort of man of which her parents would've approved. This is emblematic of the changes the new world began in her. As she said to Beth, "I'm not the woman I was a year ago..." She has survived the deaths of Ed and Sophia, the death of good friends like Lori, T-Dog and Andrea, to become a leader. Yet that brought its own set of expectations from the new community. In trying to protect Lizzie, Mika and the other children she was willing to die. By leaving with Daryl, she escaped that fate, but is now adrift, cut off from all that structured her life for the last three years. She has another chance to reinvent herself, to be free of other's expectations. To love the person **__**she **__**chose.**_

_**This is a new start for the both of them. **_


	6. Chapter 6: Out of the pines

_**Thanks to all of you who have favored, followed & reviewed! I so appreciate your support!**_

_**A little flashback and then some complications for our Caryl.  
**_

* * *

_**Out of the pines...**_

"So she's supposed to leave a message and if it's ok, then what?" Carol asked, wrapping the bungee around the bag that held their water and food. They had been at the Garden Center for a week, scouting the area and gathering what usable supplies they could, but it was time to check the rendezvous point to see if there was a message from Michonne and then move on to the next safe house if need be.

They'd found an old pick up, reminding her of his blue beater at the quarry, abandoned after the CDC, and after a tune up, were going to use it instead of relying on the noisy motorcycle. It had apparently been used for the Greenhouse Christmas tree deliveries and had brightly painted large green pines on both doors. The bed had been full of old pine needles and had actually smelled wonderful, like the live trees her mother had always insisted on every year, reminding them that the evergreen was a symbol of immortality and Christ's resurrection. As she swept out the needles, Carol thought that the resurrection of the dead was something of which she no longer needed a _symbolic_ remembrance.

The truck would also provide them with a safer sleeping place than a tent if they got run out of the shelters they intended to use along the way. The bike fit in the back, never left behind if they could help it because it was one of the last connections Daryl had to Merle.

Daryl took some time to consider his answer to her question. Returning to the prison was a long shot at best.

"Then we decide if we go back." Daryl finally said evenly, rolling up the bedroll and stuffing it behind the panel seat of the truck.

"Daryl." Carol said, putting her hand on his forearm. They both knew that since the vote had gone so much against her it was more than Tyreese who would have to acquiesce to her return. The people she'd thought of as family, Glenn, Maggie, Hershel, and Rick—they had all voted against her, voted that she be put to death. How could she come back from that?

Daryl looked up at her. She tilted her head at him and the sorrow in her eyes made his lower lip crinkle into a frown.

"We both know that's not going to happen," Carol said quietly, painfully. As much as it had hurt to leave the girls, leave Carl and Judith, she knew she'd already burned those bridges when she had taken on the burden of blame. She'd been willing to give up her life for it.

"Always a chance." Daryl said stubbornly, unwilling to let her give up hope, even now, and returned to his work.

"What if I don't _want_ to go back?" she asked him, squeezing down on his arm, making him look at her. "Rick told me—he said he didn't _trust_ me around his children anymore." And the hurt in her voice made Daryl wince.

Daryl didn't know what to say to that.

* * *

When they'd returned to the prison from their run for the medicine Tyreese had immediately gone in to check on Sasha while Michonne and he had spent the rest of the night working, mending the fences that had been broken down by the walkers. The people with medical training, Hershel, Bob and he'd assumed Carol, were in the Isolation ward, treating the sick, who included Glenn, Sasha and the little girl Carol had promised to care for, Lizzie. When Tyreese had returned to help, Rick had left to go check on Carl and the rest of the children in quarantine. When Daryl and Tyreese finally finished, the big man had gone to be with his sister again and Daryl asked Hershel where Carol was.

"How about Carol? She up in A block with Lizzie?

"No. Talk to Rick about her, She's ok, just talk to him." Hershel said, not meeting his eyes, deflecting the younger man. Daryl looked puzzled, but started scanning the prison yard for his friend. He looked over at the Jeep and wagon that he and Rick had used to sacrifice the piglets to move the walkers away from the fence and saw Michonne, joined by Hershel, methodically loading the bodies of the walkers who had come in through the breach. Apparently just Carl and Rick had fought them off last night, using the automatic weapons reserved for use in only direst emergency, their loud rapid fire dangerous because it attracted even more of the dead.

He looked down towards the fences, the new build up already beginning. Then he saw them, Rick and Carl, standing in the garden. As he watched they started back up the path towards him, the father's hand on the son's shoulder. He was pleased the kid had stepped up last night and had helped—he was tough, that was for damn sure. The entire original prison group was strong—what Hershel had done in the cellblock last night was a fuckin' miracle, and at the time it looked like both Glenn and Sasha would pull through. They hadn't known then that the secondary viral outbreak would strike several of those who had survived the first, cruelly taking Sasha and Hershel in the next few days.

"Rick?" Daryl called and the two Grimes men stopped in their tracks.

"Do you want me to stay, dad? Carl asked, and Rick's hand slid to his pistol grip, the subtle action not missed by the observant tracker.

Rick looked over at Daryl, who squinted at him speculatively, and then back to Carl.

"We'll be fine, Carl—go on up." Rick ordered, and Carl reluctantly obeyed.

"We need to talk, Daryl." Rick said in a measured voice of deliberate calm, like how one would talk to a horse about to spook.

Rick had dealt with an angry and upset Daryl Dixon before...but back then he'd had his partner and/or a large gun as back up. At least this time Daryl wasn't carrying squirrels, a pick axe or a crossbow.

"Where is she, Rick?" Daryl said, and Rick didn't have to ask who he was talking about.

"She's locked in solitary." Rick said quietly.

_"What? Why?"_ Daryl came closer, invading Rick's space.

"Now I need you to stay calm, Daryl." Rick asked, putting his hand on Daryl's shoulder, but the other man shrugged it off and got in his face the same way he'd used his muscular body to intimidate Bob at the Vet school.

_"Why. The. Fuck. Is. Carol. Locked. Up._" Daryl bit out, his voice low and menacing.

"She killed Karen and David. She confessed." Rick said and Daryl stumbled back, deflating, a look of shock on his face. Without another word he turned and started running up the hill.

_"Shit!"_ Rick cursed and ran after him, yelling,_ "Daryl!"_ Carl was hovering just inside the inner fence where he'd been watching the exchange. He knew something was wrong, he just didn't know what. All of the adults seemed on edge, nervous about Daryl's return for some reason...and he hadn't seen Carol this morning—he hoped that didn't mean she was sick. Daryl would not take that well.

Carl's eyes went wide as his dad tackled Daryl, a cross body block across his legs, bringing him down. Then Daryl fought him, street fighter dirty, getting in several kidney and rib punches before Rick was able to escape enough so he could get off a right cross to Daryl's jaw, sending him reeling back. But Daryl quickly recovered and the men continued to trade blows until the sounds of their battle and Carl's shouts for them to stop drew Tyreese and Maggie out of the prison. Tyreese pulled Daryl off of Rick and held him back while Rick slowly stood, wiping the blood off his mouth.

"Lemme _go_—I need to talk to her—figure out what's goin' on!" Daryl yelled, struggling against Tyreese's hold on him.

"Daryl, you're not helping matters with this!" Maggie soothed.

"What the hell is going on here?" Tyreese asked, totally flummoxed to see these two men at odds.

"You _tell _them?" Daryl snarled, looking at the group around them.

"I was hoping for a calm discussion so I could explain…" Rick began, but Daryl interrupted.

"I need to see her, Rick."

"I can't allow that." Rick said. "She'd fine where she is for now. Safe." he looked pointedly at Tyreese, trying to tell Daryl without words that as soon as Tyreese knew, her safety would be in question.

"That's what we thought about Karen and David." Daryl said darkly, and Tyreese's grip on him went lax. Daryl pulled free, glared at Rick and then turned on his heel and stalked back into the prison. Rick and Maggie exchanged a troubled look and then he gestured for her to follow Daryl.

"What does this have to do with Karen?" Tyreese asked, coming closer to Rick.

"Dad?" Carl asked, growing concerned, "Is Carol ok?"

Rick closed his eyes. This was not how he'd wanted this to play out.

* * *

"Nothing?" Carol asked. They were at the rendezvous spot where Daryl and Michonne had set up the dead drop. It had been a scenic overlook rest area at the edge of a vast commercial pine forest, a beautiful river valley spread out below them. Daryl had shifted the rocks in the make-shift cairn under where a lock box was hidden, but the container had been empty when he'd opened it.

"Nope, nothin'" Daryl answered, putting in his note and locking the container back up. It told her that they'd been there and were now heading to the second site, using the number cipher code they'd agreed to. He piled the rocks back over the metal box and then stood, looking out over the peaceful valley.

"Maybe she couldn't get away—any number of reasons why." Carol said, coming up beside him. Daryl nodded, but was clearly worried. "Can we give her some more time? Wait here for a bit? It'd be nice to actually talk to her." Carol asked.

"Gettin' tired of my company already?" Daryl teased with a chuckle, bumping her with his hip.

"Never." she replied, standing sideways to him and wrapping her arms around his waist and torso. Daryl's right hand went over hers and his other arm went around her shoulders and he hugged her close.

"Could almost forget how fucked up this world really is, lookin' at somthin' like this." Daryl said softly. Carol looked out over the bucolic landscape of loblolly and longleaf pines and sighed in agreement.

"What're all those birds? Hawks?" she asked curiously. Several large black winged shapes floated on the thermals, circling around something far down below.

"Buzzards." Daryl said with disgust. He knew that the carrion eaters were a necessary evil in the cycle of life and death, but there were more of the dead than the living these days and the raptors served as an all too cruel reminder of that fact.

"You don't think?" Carol asked, horrified that their friend might be the cause of the birds' interest.

"Only one way to find out." Daryl said, resigned, "Let's go."

* * *

The body of the red horse lay in the middle of the road, walkers and buzzards jockeying for places at the feast it provided. Daryl took out the half dozen walkers with his bow and their human presence seemed to be enough to scare the birds away. At least a dozen more walker corpses lay scattered around the big animal, most defenestrated by a sharp blade through the middle of their skulls, but some shot and others stabbed through eyes or ears.

"It's Flame." Carol said sadly, looking at the remains of the copper colored horse. "His throat was cut." The horse would've gone down and bled out, just like at a slaughterhouse.

"She sacrificed him so she could get away," Daryl nodded, looking around the battle site for more clues.

"Can you track her?" Carol asked, looking up from the ruined animal.

_"Them_—her tracks and at least three other people, running fast, that way." he pointed towards the low mountain they'd just come down. "Headin' for the rendezvous."

"Why isn't she alone?" Carol said, suddenly suspicious—had the woman given her up? Was she bringing Tyreese and Rick to kill her?

"The others—another adult and two sets a small tracks—light—one in shit kickers, one in square heeled boots." he said as he moved closer to the tree line, briefly out of sight behind a brace of pine, "_Aw no—no...Oh shit!"_ he cried and Carol raced over to him.

"_Daryl?_ What is it?" Carol said anxiously. Daryl was crouching behind the pines, holding something in his hand, which he held up to show her. It was a small yellow flannel duck toy. One he'd given to Judith.

"I think she's got lil'asskicker and two a' the kids with her." Daryl said, swallowing hard.

_"Why would she..."_ Carol asked, confused. Daryl shook his head at her, the guilt on his face overwhelming. "You think something happened at the prison." she said, monotone. "Because you weren't there to help defend it." Daryl looked away, back up the path that Michonne and the others had taken.

"We need to find them—com'on." he urged her, and took off at a quick jog.

"Daryl wait—we can't just leave the truck and all of our things here." Carol reminded him, catching up to him. Raiders and other opportunists were everywhere—something left unattended was fair game. Daryl stopped and turned back to her.

"Alright—you drive back up near to the overlook and wait there—I'll try and catch 'em first, but if I don't _you _stay outa sight—no tellin' who she has with her and it might be someone who won't be too happy to see you alive—they could think she's just bringin' them to _me._"

"Ok." she said, and Daryl took her hand.

"We'll find 'em and it's gonna be ok." he reassured her.

"Go—stay safe." Carol said, and he gave her a quick kiss.

"You too." and then he was gone.

* * *

Carol pulled the truck off the road about a half a mile from the rendezvous site, driving up in the heavy brush and trees above the overlook. She locked the vehicle and moved to kneel in front of it so her back was to it, minimizing the risk of someone or something sneaking up on her, covering herself with the dark green sleeping bag and some tree branches. She held the rifle, using the scope to look down to the tree line below the overlook pull off.

A sight movement caught her attention and then Daryl broke through the long-leaf pine trees. Carol smiled when she saw that he wore a front papoose style carrier in which Judith was tightly secured. They were followed closely by Michonne and Carl wearing heavy back packs, and then an exhausted looking Beth.

And then her heart fell. The fourth to their party, carrying piggyback curly headed Luke, the seven year old boy who had lost his father in the outbreak, was Tyreese.

* * *

_**So! Some difficult times ahead for our little band-why are they on the run? What happened to the rest of the prison group?**_

_**Pine trees are often planted in cemeteries as symbols of eternal life and symbols of peace..**_

_**Pine oils contain phenols which act as natural stress-relievers. In recent years, pine oil has become popular for aromatherapy.**_

_**A massive 2007 study by the U.S. Forest Service found Georgia had about 16 billion cubic feet of pines growing within its borders. That included longleaf and slash pines, loblolly and short-leaf pines, "other" yellow pines and even a few white and red pines. That's just over 12 million acres of commercial pine forest, one of the largest biomass industries in the state. A large pine forest is near Senoia, where TWD is filmed.**_


	7. Chapter 7: Wormwood and Bitters

_**Thanks to all the readers, followers, favorites & reviewers. Please be a little patient with me on updates—I didn't mean to have 2 separate chapter stories going on at the same time, but it's an interesting exercise in plotting. I hope you enjoy both this one and "Ain't Like That."**_

_**UPDATE: Fixed a continuity error; I killed Hershel off in this reality, so he couldn't have been there when the prison fell, so this new version fixes that. Thanks for the catch **_BanannaFlvdSnow:)

* * *

_**Wormwood and Bitters **_

_**"The third angel blew his trumpet, and a great star fell from heaven, blazing like a torch, and it fell on a third of the rivers and on the springs of water. The name of the star is Wormwood. A third of the waters became wormwood, and many died from the water, because it was made bitter." (Revelation 8:10–11, New Revised Standard Version).**_

"Beth—take the baby now." Daryl ordered curtly, unstrapping Judith's carrier from his chest. The young woman came forward and did as she was asked, looking around them at the clearing next to the parking lot for Daryl's vehicle.

"Where do we go now?" Carl asked, looking worriedly back over his shoulder to the pine forest they'd just exited, "There's no shelter here."

Daryl gave a quick nod to Michonne and jerked his head across the road in front of them to the dense underbrush that marked the beginning of the next stand of trees and then he pulled his crossbow around to the front, lifting it off his shoulder to load a bolt. She looked briefly to Tyreese and gave Daryl a questioning look and he nodded and lifted his bow.

"Ty, let me take a look at Luke, I think he has a scratch from some of the branches." Michonne said evenly. Looking concerned, Tyreese set the small boy down and started looking him over.

"Where? I don't see anything…"

"Luke, come 'ere." Michonne said, holding out her hands to him and the child wrenched himself away from Tyreese and ran to her. "You go stand by Carl now, you hear?" she told him and Luke nodded and did as he was told. Michonne pulled her katana from the scabbard at her back and stood between Tyreese and the rest of the group.

"What's goin' on?" Tyreese asked, looking from Michonne to Daryl, taking a step forward. Daryl swung up his bow, aiming it at the big man's head. "I get bit and not feel it? Y'all are acting like I'm the enemy!"

"We got a bit of a situation here, Ty—and we just want to make sure you're with the program. Now toss you r hammer over by me—nice and easy—and then kneel and we'll talk." Daryl ordered.

"What the hell's wrong with you people?" He looked angrily at Michonne, "We barely got outa that death trap of a prison, been running for our lives for three days and now you don't _trust _me no more?"

"Need you to do as Daryl says, Tyreese, _please._" Michonne asked. Tyreese stared at them all for several beats, but then shook his head and did as they asked.

"Got any more weapons on ya?" Daryl asked. "Knife? Gun?" Tyreese shook his head no and Daryl looked to Michonne, Carl and Beth to confirm it.

"He gave me his knife." Beth said, pointing to the blade sheathed at her waist.

"No bullets left for the gun. It's in my pack." Tyreese said.

"Carl, go get it." Daryl said. Carl frowned at Daryl in confusion, but did as he was told; pulling off Tyreese's back pack and carrying it back with him to where Luke, Beth and Judith stood, behind Daryl and Michonne.

"You so much as flinch and I put a bolt in you—get it?" Daryl said firmly. Still looking confused and angry Tyreese nevertheless nodded. _"You can come out now!"_ Daryl yelled loudly over his shoulder. After a few minutes there was movement in the brush across the road and out walked Carol, holding her rifle across her body, looking tense.

"_Oh my God!"_ Beth cried.

Carl looked wonderingly to Daryl and a big smile broke over his face.

"You couldn't do it." Carl said, shaking his head.

"_You fucking son of a bitch."_ Tyreese said menacingly, staring at Daryl, who looked back impassively, his only tell of agitation at the threat the man posed was his twitching left eye.

Little Luke looked frightened and moved in close to Michonne, hanging onto her.

"They told us Miss Carol is dead. Is she a walker?" the boy asked.

"No honey, I'm not a walker." Carol said soothingly, shouldering her rifle and slowly coming to stand beside Daryl. Beth came forward; holding her hands out to Carol and the two embraced, Carol kissing the top of Judith's head as the baby gurgled happily. Carl ran to her then and they hugged as well, which seemed to confirm to Luke that it was safe and he launched himself at his former teacher. He'd seen his own father die, turn and be shot by Maggie. The miracle of Miss Carol being alive was something he wasn't going to question twice.

"That's a lot of welcome for a _murderer_." Tyreese said bitterly, his hands fisted tightly, fighting the urge to spring up and take his vengeance out on the woman he'd believed had already been rightfully punished for her sins, dead.

"She didn't kill anyone." Daryl said.

"Bitch did it. She confessed. Had a legal trial. Now you're just as guilty as she is, helping her escape her just sentence." He looked over at Michonne, smirking, "She know you're screwing Xena over there too?"

"You saw what you wanted to see." Michonne said mildly, "What _we_ wanted you to see."

"You were in on it too." Tyreese intoned flatly, realizing he'd been played. He looked over at Daryl. "Better just let that bolt fly 'coz soon as I get my chance I'm gonna _kill her with my bare hands for what she did to Karen!"_ his voice rose in fury, and a frightened Judith started to cry.

"_Jesus_ Tyreese! You trying to bring every walker in the forest down on us?" Michonne hissed. Beth fumbled in her pocket for the baby's pacifier, working to quiet her and Carol put down Luke to help her. Luke walked over to Daryl and tugged on his vest.

"Mr. Daryl?" the little boy asked.

"You go back over with Carl now, Luke." Daryl said, urging the boy without looking down at him, keeping his eyes trained on the agitated man in front of him.

"But Mr. Daryl, is Mr. Ty mad at Miss Carol because of Miss Karen getting' sick and dead?" the childish voice asked loudly. Daryl sighed. They had tried to shield the children from the ugly realities of the situation, but it was a little too late now.

"That's right Luke."

"But she didn't hurt Miss Karen." Luke said plaintively.

"Huh. Now she's got the kids believing her lies." Tyreese grunted.

"_Miss Carol doesn't lie!"_ Luke said staunchly, crossing his arms in front of himself and stepping away from Daryl to confront Tyreese.

"Luke—_step back_." Daryl ordered, not wanting Tyreese to grab the boy as a hostage.

"But he's saying bad things about Miss Carol and I know she didn't hurt Miss Karen and make her dead because _we_ _did it!"_ the boy yelled. Everyone froze.

Carol's head sunk to her chest and she sighed tiredly. No one was ever supposed to know. What she'd found when she went to check on Karen and David… There were Lizzie, Mikka, Luke, Alice and Graham …all of the surviving children in her story time group, carefully pouring the gasoline they'd stolen from the motor pool over David's body lying next to Karen's which was already soaked with the stuff. Horrified, she'd fallen to her knees, grasping at the back door with a hand bloody from examining the empty beds.

Mikka explained that they'd had to do this before, when their mother and grandmother died, that now that they knew how better to use the knives it had been a lot easier; that they had snuck in to spy on Karen and David to see if they'd gotten sick and found them coughing up blood, asking for help.

Carol had spent the rest of the afternoon helping them erase their bloody foot and hand prints—all traces that they had ever been there—and had brought in more buckets of water in so they could strip down and wash the blood of their sins away, rinsing it off of their hands, shoes and out of their clothes. She made them promise to never do anything like this again, to come talk to her or Hershel or Doctor S if they saw someone who was sick and let them deal with it.

As Carol finished, dreading the final step, to drop the matches that would burn the bodies, Lizzie stood at the door, using the toe of her cowboy boot, slowly making patterns in the blood trail left by the dragging of the bodies, which had taken all of them working together to do.

"I'm not _weak_." Lizzie said stubbornly, looking up at Carol. "You said I was weak."

Weary beyond telling, Carol looked over at the girl.

"I'm sorry Lizzie," Carol said, apologizing for misreading the girl so completely. Not understanding that she had already been so damaged before they had even met that questions of end of life ethics really made no difference to her. Death was just a transition to some other equally important state. This was a child who named walkers.

"Will they be mad?" she asked Carol. "That we helped? Will they make us leave?""

"Don't worry about it. I'll tell them I did it. I'm on the council, they'll understand." Carol assured her. "You go now, honey. Be quiet going out, wait until it's clear. I have to finish this."

It was a secret she'd been willing to die for, knowing that the children didn't really understand that what they had done was wrong, and seeing Tyreese's unhinged violent reaction, felt she had been justified, unwilling to let him possibly take it out on them.

She looked over at Tyreese, shaking his head in disbelief as he looked at the little boy.

"I'm sorry, Miss Carol," Luke lisped, "I know you told us not to tell, but Lizzy and Mikka got dead now too and Alice and Graham went with Miss Maggie and Mr. Glenn and Mr. Tyreese is gonna hurt you and I'm the only one left _to_ tell!"

Carol looked at Michonne, horrified.

_"Lizzie and Mikka?" _She cried, her hands going to her mouth.

"I'm sorry, Carol." Michonne said sadly, and then her voice changed to an angry buzz, "It was the _Governor_. He had a tank. Took down the fences, blew holes in C with mortars, the girls were in there. We all scattered, grabbed the rest of the kids and went out the back. Blaze was in his pasture back there so we brought him, traded off riding and walking. I knew Daryl would be checking this drop today; I hoped we could hook up with you two and head for the next safe house."

_"Shit,"_ Daryl said, "he take it over, then?"

"It's gone, Daryl. They razed it. Destroyed everything and burned it to the ground." Michonne said. It had been horrific, napalmed walkers burning as they steamed into the breaches in the fence made by the tank, everything they touched bursting into flame, Rick screaming at her to get Carl and Judith out while he held the doors shut, burning walkers pushing up against them, the sound of the tank canon and gunfire as Blake's men entered the front of the prison, the terror on the faces of people already almost destroyed by the losses from the so recent plague.

"Rick?" Daryl asked, and Carl hung his head and Beth looked devastated.

"Don't know—he sent everyone else ahead with the kids while he held the last doors." Tyreese finally spoke.

"Are the rest of them coming here?" Carol asked, dull pain flattening her tone. The guilt at not being there to protect the girls, after she had promised their father to do so, was tearing her up inside. Daryl stole a glance at her, worried that she'd close back up again over this.

"I told Glenn about the dead drop," Michonne nodded, but then she looked sad. "Rick didn't want to know—in case he was captured…didn't want to give our location up."

"What do we do?" Beth looked to Daryl, Carol and Michonne.

"_My _dad said our first priority is to get the kids to someplace safe…to get to _Daryl."_ Carl said, and Daryl sighed at the trust that Rick had put in him to care for his children.

"Then that's what we should do." Carol said, nodding. "Our truck is just there—in the brush—and someone needs to stay here in case Glenn and Maggie make it while the rest head for the safe house."

"You the boss now?" Tyreese grumbled from his place still on his knees, still on the ground. Daryl raised his bow back to full height from where it had slightly lowered during the conversation.

"We gonna have a problem Ty?" Daryl asked evenly, but with a hint of menace.

"Don't know if I buy that a group of little kids could do what I saw." Tyreese said stubbornly.

"Don't want to cut you lose—we could use the muscle—but if I have to worry about you trying to hurt my woman every time I turn my back this ain't gonna work." Daryl told him firmly. Beth put her hand on Carol's arm and the older woman looked over at her to see a quizzical small smile on the younger's face. _"My woman?"_ Beth mouthed silently and Carol blushed, but nodded, making Beth squeeze her arm.

Luke frowned and walked closer to Tyreese.

_"Luke!"_ Daryl barked, but the child ignored him and went right up to the kneeling man and put his small hand on Tyreese's shoulder.

"I'm sorry Mr. Tyreese, I know ya loved her, but she was too sick and we didn't want her to turn into one a _them_." He said with an expression far too sad and old for his cherubic face. "Please don't hurt Miss Carol."

_"Walkers!"_ Carl whispered loudly, pointing down the highway. A small herd of about fifteen to twenty was heading their way.

"We have to hurry or we'll get cut off from the truck!" Carol said in an anxious hushed voice. Daryl held his bow steady on Tyreese.

"What's it going to be?" Daryl whispered harshly.

_"We don't have time for this!"_ Carol said, grabbing at the back of Daryl's vest while she shoved Beth and Carl towards the tree line across the road.

Tyreese stood, picking up Luke and nodding solemnly.

"Let's go." He said.

* * *

_**Ok, so the kids went all **__**Lord of the Flies**__** on Karen and David. It made sense to me—who else would Carol cover up for and lie so staunchly to defend? I made K&D helpless, in the end stage of the illness & added a couple more kids in just to make it plausible that working together they could've done the killing and moved the bodies.**_

_**The biblical quote from Revelations "...and many died from the water, because it was made bitter" at the start of this chapter intrigued me because it talks about the water transmission of a death dealing illness or poison, which with all of the water clues this season seemed to be the agent of transmission, the water barrels, the shower, and Carol risking her life to get the supply hose clear.**_

_**Also the evil star that falls, perhaps a comet, which causes the bad water, is called "Wormwood," which was suggested as the title for this chapter by the lovely reviewer "what evil lurks." Thanks :)**_

_**Obviously I'm using the word "bitters" in two different senses here, Tyreese's bitterness over Carol escaping her death sentence & the kind made from wormwood, also used in absinthe, a potent alcohol that can kill if over used.**_

_**Bitters were originally used as medicine, usually centered on issues with digestion. Unlike today, bitters were usually taken by themselves, and it wasn't until the late 1700′s that people started adding them to spirits (in themselves a cure-all) giving birth to the cocktail (and cocktail bitters). Bitters while bitter tasting by themselves are usually only applied in small drops or dashes and will not make a cocktail itself bitter, a common misconception; they just add depth of flavor.**_

_**In the Stephen King short story "Home Delivery," an alien object enters Earth's orbit and causes the dead to rise as zombies and attack the living; the hellish object, a meteor-sized ball made up of many writhing worms, is referred to as "Star Wormwood."**_ _**Star Wormwood is also mentioned by Mother Carmody in King's short story "The Mist" and its film adaptation in 2007, was directed by TWD TV show originator Frank Darabont, and featuring Melissa McBride as one of the few survivors of an apocalyptic event. Her character lives because she goes home to save her children.**_


End file.
